“Good morning, you son of a bitch.” There is also bad company.
Nine times out of ten, if you answer the question “What’s the point?” cannot explain exhaustively, a routine may have no right to exist. If this actually makes your own life worse, it becomes even more dubious. And if it also messes up other people’s lives, it becomes completely absurd why one should take part in something like that.
When I posted a photo of myself on Insta this morning (“Good morning”) toasting my cell phone camera with a coffee, it would have been difficult to answer the question about the deeper meaning of such a post. Maintaining relationships with the audience? Duty of chronicler? It’s not as if the fact that I drink coffee in the morning is a newsworthy occurrence. There are probably several Germans now drinking coffee in the morning.
My own hand casually swipes across the user interface like in a catalog of attractive lifestyles, and I can see that others are drinking their coffee in Florence and not, like me, in, let’s say, Cologne. Others are drinking their coffee in Bali, and the coffee is actually a cocktail, and I feel sad. Quick look at the comment bar. Three people write something like “Mmhm. Coffee” or “I prefer drinking tea,” and the fourth person greets back with a hearty “I hope the caffeine gives you a heart attack and dies.” Well, going online was worth it again! And there you sit on a sunny Tuesday afternoon and ask yourself why there is this slight mood. Until you remember that some stranger on the internet wished you dead this morning, or worse, wrote to you that you had grown old.
My name is Micky Beisenherz. In Castrop-Rauxel I am a world star. Elsewhere I have to pay for everything myself. I am a multimedia (single) general store. Author (Extra3, Jungle Camp), presenter (ZDF, NDR, ProSieben, ntv), podcast host (“Apocalypse and Filter Coffee”), occasional cartoonist. There are things that stand out to me. Sometimes even upset me. And since their impulse control is constantly stuck, they probably have to get out. My religious symbol is the crosshairs. The razor blade is my dance floor. And my feet are itching again.
Why do we pay such a high price? If social media were a department store, you would go in regularly, find a pair of nice socks, but then get beaten up on six floors and come out stripped down to your underwear. We still go in again and again. Worse still, how many – mostly young women – think they can break this chain of incessant degradation by making this one particular post? This one statement that convinces all “critics” to let go of her now. The opposite is the case. It’s like quicksand. The harder you kick, the deeper you sink. Arguing with people who start with an insult is like playing volleyball with a hornet’s nest: you might score a point or two. But the damage outweighs the damage.
Who among us has the nerve to put up with all the insults that await us every day in this digital problem area? And what is actually waiting for us there if we assume that we can define ourselves as a person by how a bunch of complete strangers rate us on X, Threads or Instagram. I’m not going to go to Braunschweig, stand on the town hall market and ask people: “And you? How do you actually find me?” You are constantly and constantly being scrutinized and criticized that would be too harsh even for Andi Scheuer – when all you want to do is post a photo of yourself in a bikini.
Almost touching, all the posts and videos that are intended to encourage people to stand by their bodies in 2024 (“body positivity”). Or post screenshots of hate messages to prove exactly what? As if we needed a reminder that sociopaths are the only reliably renewable raw material in our society. Such posts usually positively influence around 28 people to rethink their view of society – and encourage 23,977 accounts to really piss off the old woman in her underwear.
In the event of a shitstorm, the average rabble finally switches to beast mode: all the dams break in the service of the “good cause”. Even in all the noise, it’s no longer clear to you who you actually are. In this situation, if someone told you that under your name on your ID card it said: “stupidest asshole in the nation” – you would believe it. The wounded self is completely shaken up. Like a surfer who is swallowed by a huge wave and at some point no longer knows which way is up and which is down. Of course, each individual in this swarm of rage considers their individual verbal insult (“go die, you Kek”) to be justified criticism. In the canon, they gradually push the object of contempt closer towards the cliff – only to use the next opportunity to denounce hatred on the Internet and share Sharepics for mental health.
It almost doesn’t matter whether the digital torch mob is sent out by some crazy left-wing social warlords, because a mild gender gag is of course the gateway to fascism. Or whether Julian Reichelt’s digital boxing booth from the far right is shaking because Ricarda Lang promised herself to Illner. There is only peace when you find the victims of the social media Way of the Cross trembling under a river bridge. And the others, in turn, find their salvation, freed from the pronoun requirement, in listening to the political-philosophical rants of the vulgar masculine hosts in Finfluencer podcasts, because they can still speak freely.
While Twitter was once a meadow where style blossoms grew and small, subtle gags turned young people into indie stars, today the storm of projections dominates. Since the takeover of kryptonite Nero Elon Musk, “X” has been nothing more than an orgy of insinuations.
The simple rule remains: If a name is already trending on the Internet, think carefully about whether you still need to do something about it.
The fact that Meta and Co. want to present political content at a disadvantage in the future probably has less to do with the social responsibility of Zuckerberg and Co., but simply with the fact that what is considered political content no longer stimulates interaction, but is simply incredibly stressful. It’s bad for business. People stay away. Who wants to be yelled at non-stop? The world is bad enough without having to read, even yourself.
So you can: enjoy your coffee and just not post anything. Stay away.
Oh, if only I were less vain to be able to stick to it myself.
